


Jack the Ripper

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Costume Kink, Costumes, Established Relationship, F/M, It's still fresh, Jack the Ripper - Freeform, Theatre, Undercover Missions, but sexy, corsets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 14:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15753180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: An undercover stint. The theatre. Elaborate costumes. A wardrobe malfunction that could prove fatal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People wanted me to write this. Also; happy birthday to me (it's probably the 21st somewhere on the planet)! My gift to all of you devious munchkins will be this ridiculously smutty fic. Let’s keep up the good work. 
> 
> Kudos to my beta 221A_brina for being so patient with me and for being able to salvage my incoherent writings when I'm behaving like an insecure cow.

 

Jack Robinson smiled to himself as he stood in the dark wings, watching Phryne Fisher through the side curtains as she paraded around on stage, moving in and out of his line of vision. The old, wooden floorboards creaked below his feet as the cast moved around in an intricate choreography for the final scene.

She was an absolute natural and had taken to the stage like a fish to water.

He supposed it had been implied in her last name. Still, he marvelled at her skill, at her ability to change into a different character at the drop of a hat.

He was experiencing more difficulty portraying the scruffy-looking janitor of the theatre in this undercover stint that had somehow, miraculously, not gone tits-up just yet.

_Speaking of which…_

Now, Jack was by no means a connoisseur of women’s undergarments (although he had gotten reacquainted with the latest fashion trends in lingerie over the past few months) but he concluded she _must_ be wearing some kind of undergarment that was accentuating her chest thusly. He had contemplated Phryne Fisher's breasts far more often than was probably either noble or healthy, even when he had still been married (if only in name) and he could say, with utmost certainty, that they had never been pushed up and out like that. And if they had, he'd (regretfully) never been present to witness it.

Then again, he hardly had reason to complain. He’d held those breasts - both clothed and bare - had touched them, squeezed them, licked them, bit them, had rubbed his hard cock--

He was beginning to wonder if she'd worn this ridiculous get-up for the sole purpose of driving him utterly insane. They hadn’t spent a night together since this undercover mission had started two weeks ago - the risk of discovery if they were spotted at the same residence too great, even though the theatre was located on the other side of Melbourne - and he worried he was starting to lose his mind.

He shook his head, banning these thoughts from his mind as they were definitely and decidedly _not_ helping with keeping up the charade. She was wearing a costume because she was undercover. Come to think of it, so was he, and it was about time he’d start moving before he could arouse suspicion, sweeping the same section of floor for over five minutes.

They would meet in her dressing room behind the stage after the play. Grabbing the broom, he supposed it’d be best to not get in the way of the rest of the cast and crew once they’d finish taking their bows. Additionally, it would certainly not do if someone caught him sneaking into the leading lady’s abode.

He quietly began making his way to the back, careful not to alert anyone of his intentions. Fortunately, the backstage staff he could see - a few stagehands, a dresser and the prompter - were focused on watching the play. It was opening night, after all, and well… the mere sight of Phryne Fisher was hard to resist.

He smirked. He knew this all too well.

 

***

 

About a month ago, Mr. Butler had interrupted what had could have been a very promising start to their evening by knocking on the parlour door, insistent that his reason for disturbing them was important.

Phryne had not doubted him for one second; the man was discretion personified and would never dare to interrupt, unless it was serious.

Jack had had to resort to placing a pillow in his lap as Phryne made her way from straddling his muscular thighs (and smirking that saucy smirk, damn her) to unlocking and opening the parlour door, curious as to the reason for such an interruption.

Lisa Blancheford, a young actress and understudy at one of Melbourne’s smaller theatre companies from the other side of the city, had come to them - or rather, to Phryne - to ask for her assistance in investigating the curious disappearance of the company’s leading lady, Lucinda Fitzgerald.

Jack had been reminded of the Ruddigore case… _had it really been that long?_

Fortunately (or unfortunately), no body had been found and because of this, Miss Fitzgerald was presumed missing, rather than deceased. The police in the precinct had left it at that, which irked Miss Blancheford and other members of the cast. She claimed Lucinda would not simply vanish without leaving a message, and certainly not this close to opening night. She was a bit conceited, but she was a good person and would not do this to the company.

Miss Blancheford had come by Phryne’s address through Mr. Tarrant. Although she had not expected a Detective Inspector to be present at the residence, the young lady had immediately acquiesced to Phryne’s condition that Jack would be assisting her on this case. Jack loved that she had effortlessly included and accepted him into her home, her cases, and her life as though it were a matter of course, and not up for discussion.

Not that Jack felt the need to argue the point. Not at all, in fact.

Miss Blancheford was able to provide them with evidence that convinced both Phryne and Jack that the male lead, Mr. Michael Sullivan, might know more regarding the disappearance of Miss Fitzgerald than he'd let on. She had informed the director of the company about Miss Fisher’s plans, and he’d agreed on the condition that Phryne would not hinder the upcoming premiere with her presence.

In return, Phryne had (naturally) wooed the man with her charms, managed to secure Miss Fitzgerald’s leading role, and roped Jack into going undercover as well. He’d been flattered that she asked him to be there to help keep an eye on things. The plan was to lure out the person responsible for Lucinda’s disappearance using Phryne as bait. If she were to find herself in trouble, Jack liked to think he would be able to provide the necessary assistance. It wasn't that he didn't trust her abilities - he did, and he had the utmost faith in them - but they were a _team_.

Jack had agreed on the proviso that they go through proper channels (which had initially earned him the eyeroll of the century). The case intrigued him, but he wanted to make sure the authorities were involved since it was, at the least, a missing person case, or at the worst, a kidnapping. The Chief Commissioner had eventually, and grudgingly agreed to their proposal, admonishing the inspector to keep an eye on _“that meddlesome woman”_ and make sure she didn’t jeopardize and subsequently ruin the case.

Which was how he'd found himself working as the theatre’s janitor, David Harvey, the previous week. Phryne had been introduced to the cast as Lucinda’s replacement, Miss Fern Jones, a week prior to his arrival so as to not arouse suspicion by joining the company at the same time, as well as giving her time for rehearsal.

Tonight was opening night, and she looked absolutely resplendent in her 18th century inspired silk gown which was a peach-coloured confection that featured intricate red and white lace detailing. Since Miss Fitzgerald had a more robust figure than she did, Phryne had to have the dress custom made to fit her slender frame. He’d seen the dress on her for the first time tonight, and although the gown sported ridiculously wide panniers at the hips, and was difficult to move around in, she wore it with the grace and poise of a true French Queen.

 

***

 

Before slipping through the curtains that designated the entrance to Phryne’s dressing room, Jack made sure to look around, making certain that no one had seen him enter. It wasn’t a proper room, but rather a makeshift section in a secluded area in the back that was shielded from the rest of the backstage area. A dressing screen and heavy red velvet curtains that hung from the grid overhead made up the rest of walls of the room. Other than one quick debriefing here, he hadn’t spoken to her in person over the course of the past two weeks.

She had, however, managed to ring him up late one night at his home. Their conversation had led to some mutually enjoyed activities.

In Phryne’s dressing room there was a small table lamp, covered with a scarf that he recognized as one of hers. It cast a warm and rather intimate red-orange light on the small space. There was a sink, a wooden clothing rack for her costumes and her personal belongings, a small vanity with a mirror and make-up on it, a decanter of water, two glasses and a single chair. Pinned to the wall next to the vanity were several photographs of Phryne in various costumes - furthering the ruse that she had performed in a number of plays. One photo featured Phryne wearing the Cleopatra costume she’d worn at her cousin’s engagement party. And of these costumes, he had to admit Cleopatra was his absolute favourite.

They’d agreed to meet here after the show to review the events of the evening and take note of any possible suspicious goings-on that might require immediate action. Any further discussion could wait until later.

The potential of discussing case details over the phone had his gut clenching in excited anticipation.

_She certainly had an endlessly creative imagination..._

For his part, Jack hadn’t observed anything untoward or out of the ordinary thus far. In her position, Phryne had more opportunities to mingle with the cast and therefore may have discovered some valuable information. She would feign a headache, excusing herself from joining the crowded foyer for drinks, without arousing suspicion. She was the leading lady, after all; disappearing without explanation would certainly unnerve the cast, especially after Lucinda’s sudden disappearance.

Jack wasn’t expecting her for at least another ten minutes; the play had only just finished and the audience had already moved into the foyer, when he heard a slight commotion on the other side of the curtains.

He recognised one of the voices as Phryne’s, the other was Mr. Sullivan’s, their main suspect.

 _“No, I assure you Mr. Sullivan, I’m just going for a quick lie-down and I will be right as rain,”_ he heard Phryne say, slightly breathless, in her Collingwood accent.

She really was a wonderful actress.

_“Are you sure I couldn't be of any… assistance, Fern?”_

Jack panicked for just a brief second.

 _“That’s very kind of you, but I just need a bit of peace and quiet right now,”_ she placated with her fellow actor.

He’d apparently given up, because good nights were exchanged, and Jack heard Sullivan’s retreating footsteps on the creaking floorboards.

 

***

 

He startled as Phryne all but flung open the curtain at the entrance to her domain, struggling to squeeze through the opening with her ridiculously wide dress. Jack rushed to her side, holding the curtain whilst remaining out of sight so she could get in, before dropping the heavy material and turning to her.

He was just in time to watch her all but rip the powdered wig and netting from her head, freeing her rumpled black hair as she breathed heavily.

At first Jack assumed she was just angry or disgusted at Mr. Sullivan’s gall, or had Sullivan hurt her just now? Could that be the reason why she seemed so out of sorts?

“Phryne? Are you alright? Honestly, who does that man think he--”

Instead of answering him, or admonishing him for his jealousy, or the use of her real name (even though they _were_ alone), she looked at him, gesticulating frantically with her arms, eyes wide. It suddenly struck him that she also appeared to be rather pale.

In two steps he was holding her, checking her temperature with the back of his hand, his other hand on her waist in an attempt to steady her. She looked like she was about to faint. Had the heat of the stage lights gotten to her?

“Phryne? What’s the matter?” he asked, mild panic lacing his voice. He quickly realised he needed to stay calm if he was ever going to calm her down.

“Can’t… _breathe_ ,” she managed in a small voice, her breathing fast and shallow as she kept pointing to the dress.

“A premiere can be very exciting. And you’ve been moving around a lot on stage. Just take deep breaths, Phryne,” he tried to appease her in hushed tones, thinking that maybe if she sat down, and drank a bit of water, she would be fine.

She shot him a look that, despite her discomfort, was filled to the brim with annoyance as she attempted to speak.

“Dress… too tight… off!” she grunted in clipped tones, and it dawned on him what the actual problem was.

“Right. Turn around,” he ordered, and she immediately did as she was told. He got out of the way, giving her ample space to manoeuvre the impossibly wide dress around.

Getting her out of her dress wasn’t the difficult part; although it appeared to be an authentic 18th century dress, it was constructed in theatrical fashion, allowing for easy removal if needed for a quick change. He grabbed for the zipper’s tab and quickly pulled it down to its end, which stopped around her mid-thigh.

Jack groaned in disbelief and frustration when the opened dress revealed what he had feared; she was _actually_ wearing a _corset_ underneath the gown. This shouldn't have come as a surprise; apart from the positioning of her breasts, her waist had appeared incredibly miniscule. He sighed. Phryne Fisher never, ever, did things by halves. If she was going to wear an 18th century dress, she’d wear a bloody corset under it. _Of course_ she would.

To be fair, Jack had accidentally seen his grandmother in a similar contraption once - a corset, that is - whilst she’d been getting dressed, but he had only been a mere boy. He certainly never had occasion to remove one, let alone from a woman he desired until now. He was quickly becoming frustrated at his inability to decipher the veritable maze of laces and eyelets.

“Damn it, Phryne! How does this come off?” he growled, as his concern for her irregular breathing increased. The laces seemed to knot tighter together each time he attempted to loosen them with his large hands.

“Just… _cut it_ ,” he heard her say with great difficulty, as she pointed in the direction of her upper leg.

_Ah._

She had already managed to ruck up her dress and underskirts by the time he’d caught up with her plan, and he traced her leg up her thigh until he encountered the lace top of her stocking. Carefully extracting her dagger, he pulled his hand away just as she dropped her skirts and braced herself on the vanity.

Her need for oxygen became more and more apparent from her stuttering gasps for air. For a moment, she wondered if maybe, just _maybe_ , she should have listened to Dot when she informed her the corset was laced up as tight as it would go, rather than telling her companion to nip it in a bit more.

As quickly and carefully as he could, Jack began slicing the satin ribbon lacing, the satisfying sound of ripping fabric music to his ears as he freed her from the confining garment, inch by liberating inch. She instinctively arched her back, pulling away from the sharp blade, the movement causing her small breasts to push out even further. Jack caught a glimpse in the mirror, then rapidly averted his eyes to focus on the task at hand.

One final slice and the corset fell away. Phryne immediately bent over, exhausted, and took a deep shuddering breath, gasping for air, groaning as oxygen filled her starved lungs. Jack placed the dagger on the vanity, then stroked comfortingly down her partially exposed back. As he had cut through the lacing, he’d also managed to slice through the cream satin camisole underneath. He remained silent, allowing her time to gather her wits and recover.

They stood silent for several minutes, as her breaths began to even out, the gasps disappearing until eventually, her breathing was calm and steady.

Jack was trying very hard to ignore that, in the mirror’s reflection, he could see right down her camisole. It fell away from her body, displaying the tantalising curve of her now unbound, swollen breasts. If he were to angle himself slightly, he was sure he would see her nipples, all rosy and--

He blinked. Feeling guilty for ogling her in her currently compromised and vulnerable condition, he took a step back. Phryne began to straighten up. Shrugging out of the dress and torn corset, she watched the hellish contraption fall to the floor and eyeing it with mild disdain.

“Well, that's torn it,” she pouted dryly as she looked at the remnants of her offending undergarment. She stepped out of the remainder of her costume - panniers, petticoats and all. This left her clad only in her decidedly _UNauthentic_ undergarments as she picked up the discarded garments and placed them on the wooden chair.

Meanwhile, Jack was now having a very difficult time keeping his hands to himself. The sight of her camisole cut almost clean away was very distracting, not to mention the way the satin parted straight down the middle, exposing the creamy skin of her back.

His fingers itched to stroke the skin there. His mouth salivated at the thought of getting lost licking paths across it, knowing she would taste just as exquisite as she looked.

His could feel his cock, straining inside his overalls.

He'd been almost unbearably hard in her presence on numerous previous occasions, including a couple of times when he'd technically still been married - always hiding his indecency from her with strategically placed items (though he assumed he hadn't been fooling her one bit).

Nowadays, he didn't bother hiding the effect she had on him.

She was still here. Alive and well, and the adrenaline rush from having to liberate her from her corset, combined with the knowledge that she hadn’t perished, plus seeing her traipsing around in her underwear was enough to make him want to--

The sound of liquid being poured into a glass brought him out of his reverie, and he noticed the elegant column of her throat moving as he looked at her through the mirror, watching intently as she downed the entire glass of water.

When she placed the glass on her vanity and raised her hooded eyes to lock with his, he realised her chest was now heaving for a different reason altogether.

Two weeks was a _long_ time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if janitors looked like this in the 1930’s, but Jack does because he is one hot tamale and Phryne will need easy access. Michael Sullivan is the holographic love interest of Captain Kathryn Janeway in Star Trek Voyager. She is a boss. Anyone who dares to claim otherwise; prepare thyself for a duel at dawn.
> 
> Chapter 2 will be smutty, I promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realised I forgot to insert the link to Phryne’s dress, so [here](https://nl.pinterest.com/pin/531847037219903450/) it is.
> 
> Also, smut.

 

Phryne turned to face him, and Jack swallowed thickly, taking in the dark pink, tight nipples that were clearly visible underneath the flimsy camisole. Her matching knickers were so tiny, they were barely worth mentioning; a garter belt, gossamer stockings and peach-coloured lace-up boots with a small heel that came up to mid-calf completed the remains of her ensemble. Her lips were still wet, and the glow from the lamp illuminated her alabaster skin.

He tried to resist licking his own lips in anticipation, but the effort was in vain.

A stab of arousal shot straight to his groin. Had it only been a fortnight since he’d last lain with her? It suddenly felt like an eternity.

His cock wholeheartedly agreed.

“Jack… you saved me,” she stated in a low, quiet voice as she sauntered up to him, her eyes hot on his.

His nostrils flared at her close proximity and he could feel the heat pooling in his gut, her scent intoxicating, the smell of the theatre makeup not quite strong enough to erase her own, pure essence.

“It was nothing, Miss Fisher,” he rumbled, rational thought rapidly abandoning him.

“But it wasn’t nothing, Detective Inspector. I very rarely ever find myself in need of rescuing.”

He snorted, which she pointedly chose to ignore.

“You _must_ allow me to thank you. I _insist_ ,” she purred at him and he knew for a fact that she wasn't talking about sending him a bouquet of flowers with a thank-you note.

“Phryne, are you sure you’re alright, because--”

“Shut up and kiss me, Jack,” she demanded, grabbing him by the front of his overalls and pulling him closer. And really, who was he to deny her?

Just like that, they were kissing; though it wasn't their first time, Jack still marvelled at the ease of being with Phryne. He was amazed by the fact that she seemed to want him as much as he wanted her. All of his senses were on fire as she pressed herself to him from head to toe, her sharp tongue desperately tangling with his in a duel that neither was willing to forfeit, getting reacquainted after being separated for weeks. He eagerly ran his hands all over her body, giving special attention to her scantily clad derrière, cupping and kneading the supple flesh as she fumbled with the buttons that ran down the front of his overalls, down to his groin.

She moaned sinfully when she slid her hand inside his attire, rubbing him through his smalls and finding him hard and hot and heavy against her palm. He was only wearing his singlet and smalls under the overalls, and the fact that she could reach in and touch him so easily and effortlessly gave him quite a thrill. 

“Phryne,” he murmured in a gravelly voice as his fingers traced her garter belt, and she replied by kissing him again, pressing the heel of her hand against his rock-hard erection and simultaneously swallowing his groan.

His fingers traced the hemline of her ruined camisole, before dipping underneath the fabric to trace the beautiful, smooth skin of her belly, moving upwards to tease the underside of her breasts, feeling her ribcage expand with every life-affirming breath she took.

Her dainty porcelain hand dipped into his underwear and without any warning, wrapped around his swollen cock; he jerked and grunted into her mouth as she began to stroke him hard and fast. Her other hand tugged at his smalls and he looked down just in time to watch her hands as they freed him from his constricting confines - in a way returning the favour, albeit in a non life-threatening way. He was so hard, he was bobbing against his stomach, his length an almost angry shade of reddish purple, the wide head weeping with precum.

It was an incredibly erotic sight, watching her nimble fingers playing with him from where he jutted out of his overalls. He growled when she executed a particularly delicious twist before she sank down onto her knees in front of him, landing on the lush carpeting.

“Let me show you just how ‘alright’ I am, Jack,” she whispered as she stroked his strong thighs, before grabbing hold of his firm arse with one hand, and fondling his balls with the other.

Even though he loved it when she took him into her mouth - after getting over the initial embarrassment when she’d first offered to please him orally - there wasn’t time for that. _He_ had no time for that.

She breathed on his engorged length, and he would have loved for her to suck him off, but his desperate need to get inside of her overrode everything else. He had every intention of taking her against the nearest flat surface, as soon as possible.

“No,” he ordered sharply, definitively, surprised at the huskiness of his own voice as he pulled her to her feet. “Please… I need to be inside you.”

Her eyes darkened as she bit her lower lip, then smiled salaciously as one of her hands stroked down her upper body, her fingers teasing the edge of her knickers. She brought two fingers of her other hand into her mouth and _sucked_ , _hard,_ before pulling them out and tracing them down her chest to pinch her own tight nipple through the satin of her camisole.

Jack was actually surprised he didn't come right then and there. He took hold of his cock, stroking himself almost languidly and clamping down, trying to stave off the climax that would soon become inevitable.

“Well then, Inspector, where would you like me?” she purred, her eyes fixed on his hand as it moved over his turgid flesh.

“Turn around. Bend over,” he directed breathlessly as he pointed at the vanity, then looked at her in wonder when she immediately complied. Jack wasn't a dominant man in the sense that he enjoyed controlling other people, especially women. He found himself mesmerised by the trust she placed in him, not doubting him for one second as she braced herself on the vanity on her forearms, her legs slightly apart, that sinfully glorious arse sorely tempting him.

_And dear God, those boots..._

When she looked over her shoulder, as if asking him what he was waiting for, he growled low and deep.

In two strides he was upon her, had pulled her knickers down to her knees and pushed her lower back down, bending her at a ninety-degree angle. He nudged her legs apart with his knee, but her knickers were around her knees, limiting the width of her stance. He knew this would make her wonderfully tight around him, but he still made sure to check that the satin wouldn't cut into her legs. He knew she would let him know if things got to the point of being uncomfortable.

Satisfied that she didn’t appear to be in any pain, he placed one of his large palms between her shoulder blades. She whimpered as her nipples pressed into the cool wood of the vanity, the view of her almost bare back tantalizing. He felt as if he were watching something illicit, that she was giving him a peek at something forbidden, the satin curtains still hiding parts of her ivory skin from his hungry eyes.

His hand moved around her hip and between her legs, finding her hot and ready for him. He could just imagine the sight of her drenched sex, wet and rosy and dripping with desire. He could almost taste her flavour on his tongue as he pressed two fingers between her folds, using her own moisture as lubrication before dipping them inside of her, focused solely on pleasing her.

She groaned at the sudden penetration, and he curled his fingers in retaliation, a silent order that she ought to remain silent. She pressed her cheek to the vanity, and he watched her furrowed brow as her eyes squeezed shut in concentration and pleasure, her teeth biting her lower lip and, presumably, the inside of her cheek in an effort to stay quiet.

Pressing closer to her, the underside of his stiff cock rubbed between her buttocks and she squeezed her gluteal muscles, enveloping his length with her supple flesh as he furiously pumped his fingers inside of her.

“Yes, Jack, _oh God_ , please,” she rasped as he dry-humped the curve of her arse whilst his fingers were buried deep inside of her molten depths.

“Jesus, _fuck_ , Phryne,” he groaned, removing his wet fingers and smearing her slick essence all over his throbbing cock.

He grabbed her thighs, cupping them from behind so he could watch her cunt as he spread her open before him, glistening and begging to be filled. He lined himself up with her opening, teasing himself by rubbing his cockhead along her soaking slit, enjoying the view.

She squirmed her hips, her inner muscles clenching and unclenching, as beads of sweat began forming on her skin.

“Jack, _fuck me_ ,” she told him in a tone of voice that left no room for argument, and he gave in at the sound of that expletive which she _knew_ would make his control snap.

He knew she knew, damn her.

He pushed himself inside of her in one smooth, hard thrust, barely stopping himself from groaning out loud as her hot, liquid heat enveloped him. As he impaled her on his cock, he grabbed her by the hips; an answering growl was torn from her throat. He lightly slapped her right buttock in admonishment for making a sound and she clenched around his rigid length.

No matter how often they’d done this over the past two months since her return, no matter how often he’d been buried balls-deep inside of her, he didn't think he’d ever tire of the feel of her muscles fluttering around him, her cunt tightening and clamping down on his cock, or the sight of those perfect, luscious, pert globes that jiggled each time he thrust.

This, however, was the first time he’d found himself sheathed inside her in a public location. The need for silence, and the possibility of discovery should have unnerved him, should have put him off… but it didn't. If anything, it made him swell even more and Phryne moaned when she felt him growing even harder inside her. It spurred him on, the danger of exposure, and made him want to take her hard and fast as she clutched the edge of the vanity for dear life.

_She really had a terrible influence on him..._

They were moving the vanity, rattling it as bottles clinked together. The empty decanter and the glasses fell onto the rug unnoticed. His overalls were rubbing against her buttocks; though he thought the fabric must be chafing her soft skin, she rubbed and pushed back against him enthusiastically, wanting to feel more of him, though he had nothing else left to give.

He vigorously pumped into her, bucking his hips, wondering if the fronts of her thighs would carry bruises. If so, he knew that he would be the one to soothe them with his tongue later. He pulled out almost all the way, then pushed back in, repeating the motion until she was gasping and panting, desperately trying not to make a sound. She couldn't help the tiny mewls that escaped when he thrust at an angle that felt particularly good.

His testes slapped against her arse and he watched her sneak a hand down her body to where they were joined and frantically rub her clit in the circular motions he knew she loved. The effect was instantaneous, and she began to spasmodically clamp down on his plundering cock, her hips losing their rhythm when she suddenly arched her back and stilled. She would usually vocalize her pleasure when she climaxed, but Jack found great satisfaction in watching her teeth sink into the unblemished skin of her underarm in an attempt to muffle her screams as she came. Her alabaster skin was covered in a sheen of perspiration, her hair stuck to her face and her muscles tensed before she slumped over the vanity.

She was just so gorgeous, and sensual, and sinfully _wicked_ in her abandonment. As she tightened around him he could feel his climax releasing, shooting up his spine from his toes to his crown. He suddenly remembered himself, and quickly withdrew at the last moment, spurting thick ropes of his come across her bare lower back. He watched briefly as it ran down her back in rivulets before closing his eyes in utter ecstasy and exhaustion.

 

***

 

Once they had both recovered from their inadvisable, but wonderfully frantic fuck they’d both desperately needed, Jack cleaned Phryne’s back with her torn camisole to the best of his ability, while she tried to distract him by scooping up some of his release with her finger and sucking said finger into her mouth. This had resulted in another ravenous kiss which Jack had (eventually) broken off, with the knowledge they had gotten away with this little stunt once, but wouldn't very likely get away with it a second time.

Phryne put on the clean undergarments she had brought with her, as well as a white blouse and knee-length patterned skirt that coordinated with her boots. They’d briefly discussed the night’s events, and though Phryne had not come across anything terribly suspicious or abnormal, she realised she could still grab a quick drink with the remaining cast members if she hurried, hoping they’d loosen up after imbibing a bit (or a lot) of alcohol.

She finished scrubbing her face clean of the remaining makeup, only reapplying her trademark red lipstick just as Jack finished buttoning his overalls for the umpteenth time that evening, the state in which he planned on keeping them. He watched her as she pulled up her skirt to secure her dagger in her stocking top.

He coughed.

She smirked knowingly.

“I suspect you are now no longer in favour of me wearing corsets, are you, Jack?” she asked him, straightening her skirt, implying that she'd noticed his earlier admiration of her figure, her breasts in particular.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close; she smiled as he attempted to address her with a serious face.

“You can wear them, on the condition that I will be the one who gets to cut you out of them,” he informed her as he lightly stroked her thigh through her skirt, brushing across her dagger.

“That’s a deal, Inspector.”

“It is a shame, though,” he pondered out loud, sounding devastated, his eyes raised towards the ceiling. “The view was _excellent_.”

She chuckled. It was a light and carefree sound that made him realise just how lucky he was that she’d waltzed into his life; how fortunate it was that she was still among the living, and hadn't become the victim of a rather lethal fashion _faux pas_.

“Likewise, Inspector. I do so adore this scruffy look on you,” she admitted as she raked her fingers through his unkempt curls, before brushing her knuckles along his jawline, the stubble of his scraggly beard scraping against her fingers.

She kissed him tenderly, softly, careful not to smudge her lipstick too much as she breathed into his mouth when he parted his lips for her. He could taste her liveliness on his tongue.

“ _You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen, where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men,_ ” he panted huskily as their lips parted, their foreheads pressed together as he cradled her delicate face in his large palms. 

“ _Mmm_ …,” she moaned as he gently sucked on her lower lip, “you never fail to leave me breathless, Jack Robinson,” she smiled against his lips, before she moved away and sashayed out of the dressing room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack is quoting from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. He seems to do that a lot in my fics. I don't know why.


End file.
